On a blue agave current,
Drifts the August night,
With the scent of summer's sweet perfume,
And allure of firelight,
Seated at the holy table,
Where the old souls used to pray,
Now their spirits come to life,
At the Anyway Cafe

Angels dancing with their shadows,
Waiting to be loved,
And if you ever get too close,
They'll be pulled by the reigns above,
Vessels for a melody,
In The Future we rejoice,
Echoing the history,
Of a man with the golden voice.

I'm in no rush to write my masterpiece,
Taking my time with gentle hands,
And all of these words,
That never seem to meet,
Fly away,
To be caught again.

Like the moment I first saw her,
Parched lips that tasted water,
Mother Nature's only daughter,
Living on the street,

In the open desert valley,
I feel her air around me,
Effortless and soundly,

One day we will meet.

I reduce my pen to a sword,
As I violently
penetrate the naked page,

At last, an honest poem.

Death is waiting for me
downstairs in the car,

But I'm running late as always,
Old habits,
They die hard.

A naked body is all she knows
For no man has ever
undressed her soul.